Raveled Sleeve of Care
by Nynaeve1723
Summary: An AU take from Season 5's Don't Leave Me This Way. It's a good thing they didn't do this on the show, but I felt the need to write it for fun. NOT Jordan and Woody.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** You can consider the basic premise of this little story to be either pure cheese or utter denial on my part. Granted… if they had tried this on the show, I'd be voting for pure cheese – of the water and oil based "processed cheese-type food" variety no less. But it's fanfic… time to play and have fun and maybe enjoy the cheddar (or Swiss or provolone or chevre or whatever you like with your wine – or whine ).

**A/N (updated): I started this back in…oh, July. Possibly June. It took a long time (duh) to write. Not from lack of interest on my part but because it simply came slowly. Basically, it's now an AU timeline from "Don't Leave Me This Way." If you don't like Jordan/J.D., skip it.**

**DISCLAIMER: **Don't own 'em. Not thinking the coup is necessary at this point, but still ready, willing and able to stage it if it should become necessary.

**The Raveled Sleeve of Care: Part One**

Jordan sighed softly in her sleep, nestling closer into the arms around her. Her body languid and satiated, her mind was in no hurry to rush toward conscious thought. Only the feathery light touch of lips at the back of her neck, the gentle sweep of familiar fingers through her long curls brought her around. He whispered a _good morning_ in her ear. The soft, morning-rough tones sent little shudders down her spine. She yawned and stretched in his embrace as her mind began to engage.

Then she sat up abruptly, the sheet pulled up to her chest, her eyes wide, horrified and confused. Her gaze darted around the room, registering its pristine state – except for the scattered piles of their clothing- with a look of helpless confusion. At last she turned back to face the very confused and concerned man next to her. "You're dead."

Pollack reached out a hand to touch her cheek and she shied.

"I killed you."

"Then I've got amazing recuperative powers, wouldn't you say, Cavanaugh?"

"I'm serious!" Hysteria crept slyly into her tone and in the dilation of her pupils.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why'd you kill me?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't – I woke up… you were… shot. The gun was in my hand. Lily… Lily came to the door. I was… I don't know."

"Cavanaugh, look at me. I'm fine. Very much alive. Lacking any bullet holes. Not planning on acquiring any either. Besides," he gave her a grin he hoped was charming enough to break in to her anxiety-fueled denials. "Even if the sex last night wasn't fantastic, I hardly think you'd shoot me over it, right?"

His irreverent words did manage to pull her from the vortex of anxiety long enough to make her smirk. Even still, her reply was distant, absent. "It _was_ fantastic."

"Nice to know. I thought so after all." He reached for her again and this time she let him pull her to him.

"I don't understand." She looked at him, her dark eyes pleading.

"Dream?"

"I – Maybe. It was so damn real."

"Didn't you tell me that you've had some pretty vivid dreams from time to time?"

She nodded. "My brother…yeah. Sometimes things about my mom. But, Pollack, God… a dream?"

He settled his arms around her once more, letting one hand trail through her hair to land lightly on a bare shoulder. She drew closer to him, her heart still beating a rapid tattoo against her ribs. "So, was there any more to this… dream? Nightmare?"

She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths, images playing across her mind. Slowly, she nodded.

"Tell me?" His voice was soft and gentle, his tone leaving room for her refusal, but pleading with her to acquiesce.

Idly, her eyes still closed, she began to trace meaningless patterns on his chest and abdomen. "I thought – I thought I did it. I couldn't remember anything. After the party." She sighed. His hand tightened lightly on her shoulder. "The evidence – God, the evidence was… it was… everything pointed to my having – having pulled the trigger."

"Why would you have done it?"

She opened her eyes and looked up into his face. His look was intent, serious, probing even. "I – uh – there was video of us, fighting, I guess. It _looked_ like an argument."

"That was it?" He kept his voice neutral, but his eyes were dark and hooded.

She shook her head. "Blood – yours – was all over me. GSR, too. And we found out – oh!" She bolted up, his arms falling away from her. Her look grew accusatory. "You'd pocketed my key card. At the morgue. Used it to get some cold case files."

"Which I had on my flash drive."

She scooted back from him, grabbing at the sheet again to cover her sudden vulnerability, glaring fiercely. "You really did that?"

He nodded.

"You son of a bitch! Shit, J.D. I thought – God, I'm an idiot. I'm never going to learn-"

"You're not an idiot," he interrupted quietly.

"Yeah, I am!" She was in high dudgeon by now. "You were just using me! Last night? Did that mean anything or was it just a – a little perk? I swear – I know now why I've never bothered with the whole relationship thing. You're all alike."

"Cavanaugh-"

"Get out! Get the hell out!" Despite her fury and the dangerous flashing in her eyes, Jordan's voice had barely risen in pitch, though the way she punctuated her words left no doubt of her emotions.

"I'm not leaving until you listen to me," he informed her, as if were the most reasonable course of action he could choose.

"I'm not listening to another word you say – ever." To put a point on her declaration, she reached out to slap him, only to find he was quicker than she was. He had both her wrists pinned and his body held her to the bed. She struggled for a moment, having forgotten the strength he hid behind a rather soft exterior. When she realized he was implacable, she stopped, glaring up at him, every fiber of her being radiating venomous anger.

"I needed those files."

"And you couldn't have asked?" She spat back.

"Would you have let me have them?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Would you have told me what they were for?"

"A piece I'm doing."

She snorted. "Of course. On what?"

"Corruption," was his one word answer.

"So? That isn't enough."

"I knew you'd say that," he told her.

"And you wouldn't have told me more than that?"

"Not yet."

"Then you're right – I wouldn't have let you have them."

He sighed and released her arms, rolling away from her as he did so. He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes scanning the floor for his clothes. He stole a glance back at her. She was sitting up again, sheet wrapped protectively once more around her, studying him. Mutely, he stretched to pick up his slacks and shirt. Without looking at her, he said, "For what it's worth, Cavanaugh, we're not all the same. _I_ always knew what I wanted with you. Before _and_ after we slept together."

She winced at the not-so-subtle shot at the very absent Detective Hoyt. Her eyes welled with surprised tears. _When did things get so screwed up?_ Things had never been perfect with Pollack, but, looking back, Jordan had rarely felt more comfortable in her own skin than when she was with him. He hadn't run at the first hint of trouble – or the first blazing sign of it either. He hadn't let her run either. In a quiet voice, she asked, "Did you just come back for the files?"

"No," he responded quickly. He turned and fixed her with an unreadable look. "And if I thought dropping this investigation would get you back, I'd do it. No question."

She bit her lip. "Why can't you tell me?"

"Because I might be wrong."

She arched a brow. "You've been wrong before."

He nodded gravely at her sardonic observation. "Yeah. But I don't want you to get hurt."

_Unlike last time when I wanted to hurt Woody Hoyt because I was jealous_ hung between them, unspoken, unnecessary.

"Why would I get hurt?"

He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Cavanaugh, I-"

"J.D." Her eyes still shone with unshed tears and he could hear the strain in her voice.

He let his head hang and spoke to the carpet. "If I'm wrong – If I get your hopes up and – and it's another dead end… I didn't want to do that."

"What do you…?" Her mouth fell into an "o" as the meaning of his words filtered through her brain. "My mother?"

He turned, defeated. "Yeah."

END Part One


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** You can consider the basic premise of this little story to be either pure cheese or utter denial on my part. Granted… if they had tried this on the show, I'd be voting for pure cheese – of the water and oil based "processed cheese-type food" variety no less. But it's fanfic… time to play and have fun and maybe enjoy the cheddar (or Swiss or provolone or chevre or whatever you like with your wine – or whine ).

**A/N (updated): I started this back in…oh, July. Possibly June. It took a long time (duh) to write. Not from lack of interest on my part but because it simply came slowly. Basically, it's now an AU timeline from "Don't Leave Me This Way." If you don't like Jordan/J.D., skip it.**

**DISCLAIMER: **Don't own 'em. Not thinking the coup is necessary at this point, but still ready, willing and able to stage it if it should become necessary.

**The Raveled Sleeve of Care: Part Two**

Before Pollack could say much more, Lily was tapping on the door to the suite. Her voice rang out as it had in Jordan's nightmare, causing the M.E. to shudder. Pollack said he'd go grab a shower. Silently, she nodded, calling out to Lily to give her a minute. When she'd thrown on her robe, she padded to the door and let in the bride-to-be.

Lily's glance went immediately to the closed bathroom door. She grinned. "Should I ask…?"

Jordan dipped her head as a faint blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks.

Lily grasped her friend's hands. "Maybe things are back on track with him?"

Looking up, the dark-haired woman smiled. "You do know it's Pollack in there, right?"

The grief counselor giggled and confirmed that she did indeed know who was showering in Jordan's bathroom. Then she sighed. "I want you to be happy, Jordan."

Jordan rolled her eyes in response. Deflecting any more questions or comments, she replied, "Today is all about you. Remember?" A shadow crossed Lily's face and images of a doubtful bride assailed Jordan. "You sure you want to do this?"

"Yes! Of course!" The reply was too quick, too glib. Then her forehead creased. "Do I seem – I don't know – nervous? I mean, that's normal, right? It's a big step… what? Oh, God, I'm babbling."

Jordan smiled and shrugged. "Just – I – Never mind."

"What?"

The M.E. shook her head. "Nothing."

"Jor-dan. What?"

She hesitated. "I – uh – I guess – listening to Bug… last night. You know."

This earned her a deep sigh. "Yeah." Lily's eyes glazed over for a moment until she recalled what the day was. "I mean, no. He was – He was drunk."

"Sometimes we – Hey, it's none of my business."

"Are you okay?"

Jordan nodded.

"Sure?"

"Tired," she explained with a vague wave in the direction of the running water.

"Ah." A knowing grin from Lily dispelled the growing gloom and tension in the room. "Well, is everything all set? For today?"

They fell to talking about last minute details until the shower turned off. Lily hastily left, winking and grinning, giving out a few last instructions and requests for her maid-of-honor. Jordan watched her go, her emotions a mixture of relief and trepidation, as well as curiosity and frustration since her duties as maid-of-honor would prevent her from learning anything more from Pollack.

XXXXX

"Hey."

Nigel glanced over at Woody, who had barely made it into the hall before the ceremony began. His tie was crooked and his jacket buttons askew. Not to mention that his hair looked rather – rumpled. Next to him was an equally frazzled looking Lu Simmons. Nigel nodded his greetings, one eyebrow rising significantly.

Woody glared at him. "Come on, Nige. Please. We were _working_."

The Brit shrugged and turned his eyes back to the front.

Woody took a moment to glance around. He and Lu had ducked into the end of the row where Nigel sat with Dr. Macy. Bug was absent – not surprising. Woody's eyes narrowed when he saw the figure next to Macy however. He hissed at Nigel. "What's _he_ doing here?"

"He's Jordan's escort," Nigel whispered back. "You weren't at the rehearsal party, were you?"

The detective shook his head. "I was – busy."

The criminologist grinned. "Yeah, so was Jordan."

The shot hit Woody squarely in the chest. He gaped over Nigel's shoulder at the Aussie reporter. "She wouldn't."

Nigel raised his eyebrow again, his look conveying enough that he didn't have to speak.

Woody exhaled angrily.

"What's the matter?" The blonde at his side asked.

Looking down at her, Woody attempted a weak smile. "Nothing."

"Really? Because you-"

The music started, cutting off whatever pertinent observation Lu had been about to make. It probably would have been rendered even more pertinent by the sharply inhaled breath Woody took when Jordan appeared in the doorway.

Her hair was pulled back, tendrils framing her face. Her cheeks glowed with health and her eyes sparkled. The dress was similar to the one she'd worn to the rehearsal, a haltered bodice showing off her arms and creamy shoulders. The pale green silk rustled as she moved, the long straight skirt hinting at the gorgeous, long legs beneath. She held a small bouquet of blush roses and soft greenery. Not terribly comfortable with so many eyes on her, she nonetheless managed a generous smile. Though she had her doubts about Lily and Brandau, the bride seemed more at ease, her nerves dissipating as the day had worn on. Jordan caught sight of Pollack, sitting with Macy, Nigel and – great. _Oh, well_ she thought, sending her friends a small wink. Then the wedding coordinator was hissing at her to start her walk down the aisle.

It was a long walk – a processional, for Pete's sake – for a woman who was far more accustomed to rushing everywhere in her life. It was all for Lily she kept reminding herself as she felt so many eyes crawling over her. It wasn't until she was nearly at the front, when Garret managed to mouth at her "You're doing great" that she was able to relax a bit. Her smile to him was grateful and a little bit sad – he might have had something with Lily at one time, but it hadn't been meant to be apparently.

Jordan took her place as practiced the evening before. She gave Jeffrey a tiny wave, but the groom didn't notice in the slightest; he looked like he was about to face a firing squad. The bridal march started up and the entire assembly arose as one, heads turned, eyes fixed on the doors through which Lily would appear as Jordan had done.

The first measures of the music passed; a few people shifted on their feet. The maid-of-honor's eyebrows knit down. _Okay, right about… now!_ That didn't work. _Fine then… NOW!_ Still the doors remained shut and the music played on. She looked over at Garret and Nigel, both of whom shrugged. Then she looked over at Jeffrey, who finally met her gaze. The firing squad was obviously up to two in a three count if his expression was any indication of his emotions. Jordan made a decision she doubted Jeffrey's overbearing mother would like, but the only one she saw as possible. She hastened back down the aisle, thrusting her bouquet into Pollack's surprised hands as she passed. She couldn't hear it, but she could imagine Nigel's low chuckle and sly comment about being the next one to get married. _Or, in this case, the next one left at the altar_ Jordan thought as she pulled open the doors and disappeared into the hall's antechamber.

She groaned. No sign of Lily or the wedding coordinator.

Well, one sign. Lily's own flowers lay abandoned on the nearby credenza. Jordan hustled through the small waiting room, back toward where she and Lily had dressed. She found Lily there, the wedding coordinator pleading as the bride quickly stripped off her gown and slid into a t-shirt and jeans.

Lily looked up. "I can't. I just can't," was all she said. She waited and Jordan nodded. "Can you…?"

Wordlessly, the M.E. nodded. Could telling the groom, his mother and a hundred and fifty or so of their closest friends be worse than informing a family their loved one was dead?

Oh, yeah. This was going to be worse. "Um, where are you going?"

The almost-runaway bride looked at her. "I've been stupid. I'm going to fix that."

"Bug." It wasn't a question.

Lily nodded. Then, as she dashed out of the room, the wedding coordinator still protesting, the grief counselor thanked her friend and vanished down the hallway.

Jordan took a few deep breaths, composing herself for the task ahead.

END Part Two


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** You can consider the basic premise of this little story to be either pure cheese or utter denial on my part. Granted… if they had tried this on the show, I'd be voting for pure cheese – of the water and oil based "processed cheese-type food" variety no less. But it's fanfic… time to play and have fun and maybe enjoy the cheddar (or Swiss or provolone or chevre or whatever you like with your wine – or whine ).

**A/N (updated): I started this back in…oh, July. Possibly June. It took a long time (duh) to write. Not from lack of interest on my part but because it simply came slowly. Basically, it's now an AU timeline from "Don't Leave Me This Way." If you don't like Jordan/J.D., skip it.**

**DISCLAIMER: **Don't own 'em. Not thinking the coup is necessary at this point, but still ready, willing and able to stage it if it should become necessary.

**The Raveled Sleeve of Care: Part Three**

Jordan decided it was just the littlest bit mean to be so relieved at the fact that for once she hadn't been the cause of bad romantic news, just the bearer of it. All in all, Jeffrey had taken it pretty well. He had insisted the guests stay and enjoy the hospitality he and Lily had planned for the reception that never would be. He had maintained his composure, falling apart, if he did so, only when he had gained his privacy. It was hard to tell if his mother was more pleased that her precious son would not be marrying someone she obviously felt was beneath him or horrified at such a "déclassé" turn of events.

"Should we – uh – phone or something? Do you think?" Nigel was handing around the drinks everyone had ordered. He flagged down a passing waitress and relieved her of the tray of finger foods she carried, despite her mild protest.

"No," Garret and Jordan replied as one.

Lu's brows knit down. "Aren't you worried about her?"

"I think we'd have all been more worried if she'd actually married that little ferret." Garret took a sip of his club soda.

"Dr. M!"

"Come on, Nigel. I'm just being honest."

"He's not a ferret," Jordan supplied.

Dr. Macy raised one eyebrow.

"Gerbil," Pollack inserted.

Wordlessly but smiling slightly, Garret raised his glass in a silent toast to the Aussie.

"Um, guys?" Lu again. "I'm serious. Are you sure she's okay?"

"She's fine," Jordan replied shortly.

"I just…you know…."

"Oh, for the love of…." Nigel's voice trailed off as he opened his cell phone. His eyes widened as the extension he called was actually answered – and then, after some hasty, fumbling sounds that went fairly well with the – the – well, panting he could hear – then the phone was cradled again and all he heard was the blessed dial tone. "She's fine." He fixed Detective Simmons with a stern glance. "Trust me."

Jordan stifled a giggle. "Um… Nige? I thought number two on your speed dial was _Bug's_ extension."

"It is," he replied, deadpan.

"Ah, thanks," Woody said. "I don't know if I needed that visual."

Dr. Macy looked over. "Who's number one on your speed dial?"

Nigel grinned and laughed. "Oh, look! There's Jeffrey's aunt. I think it's time for a little dance." He was out of his seat and hailing the woman before anyone could protest.

"Shouldn't I be number one in his speed dial?" Garret asked.

Jordan, sitting next to him, patted his hand in mock sympathy. "In a perfect world, Garret. In a perfect world."

"I can think of a few other things that would happen in a perfect world." The Chief M.E. gave his favorite subordinate (in name only) a look that might have been stern if not for the twinkle in his eyes.

Pollack tipped back the rest of his drink and stood up. "Well, I can think of one way to make _this _world perfect." He flicked up his eyebrows at Jordan and held out a hand. "Dance?"

She laughed and, pushing back her own chair, slid into his arms just as the song changed to a slow tune.

Pollack exhaled softly over her head as she laid her cheek on his shoulder. "This feels good, Cavanaugh."

She looked up at him and smiled. After a moment, she replied. "Yeah. It does."

They danced silently, moving to the slow rhythm of the song for another moment. "So… you never did tell me."

Jordan didn't raise her head this time. "Tell you what?"

"Why you called me?" The look in his eyes was sharp, knowing.

Now his dance partner did raise her head. "I missed you. I told you that."

He smiled wryly. "Yeah. Why?"

"What do you mean 'why?'"

He jerked his head toward the table where they'd been sitting. "Well, does it have anything to do with the fact Hoyt showed up with Detective Simmons on his arm?"

She looked at him steadily for a moment. "I don't know."

He arched an eyebrow. "You don't know?"

"He's – He's dating her. And yeah… it hurt. But – um…." She bit her lip. "That's not… everything."

Pollack waited.

Jordan sighed. "God, Pollack! You know I don't do this well."

He chuckled. "No. You don't. But I like the look you get on your face when you try."

She glared at him and thumped his chest as the song ended. They stood, watching each other until the hint of a smile crossed her face. She shook her head and suggested they get going. It was not a suggestion Pollack wanted to argue with.

XXXXX

Jordan and Pollack went back to her apartment. Although she still had the hotel suite for another night, her all-too-vivid dream lingered. She got the chills in the short amount of time it took for both of them to grab their belongings and make their getaway. They said nothing on the cab ride to her place. He kept an arm around her and she relaxed against him. He spent much of the ride gazing down at her, a slight smile playing on his lips.

He still loved her. He was fairly certain he wasn't going to get over her, at least not anytime soon. Part of him wanted to. She'd hurt him deeply and his mother's words – the ones he'd echoed to her almost at the beginning of their involvement – lurked in the back of his mind. The weather changes; dingoes don't. But another part of him wanted and needed to try again, if she'd give it another go. His heart reminded him that she had changed in some ways, ways that he could guess meant a lot for her.

And, of course, there was the little matter of the information he'd unearthed.

He'd meant it when he'd told her he worried she'd get her hopes up only to have them dashed yet again. He also worried that, if he was right, she'd think, sooner or later, that he'd done it so she'd owe him something in some way. Which he hadn't. Mostly. The venal side of his soul had prodded him, he knew, but deeper than that – far deeper – was the knowledge that having the answers she craved would allow her to move forward in ways she never had. Along with that knowledge, was the awareness that she might not choose to move forward with him. Whenever that thought rose up, however, he pushed it away. Whatever he wanted for himself, he wanted her to have peace.

At her apartment, she offered him a glass of wine, which he accepted. He sat, watching her uncork a bottle of red and pour two glasses.

_I think we can slide past it… I'd like to try. As long as it didn't mean anything…._

The same thought must have crossed her mind. Her brows creased down and for a moment, her mouth drew into a slight frown.

_The sad thing is I really tried this time_.

She squared her shoulders and joined him on the couch, handing him the glass. He dipped the rim of his toward hers and, studying her face closely, murmured, "To trying again?"

The question hung briefly in the room and then she clinked her glass to his. She took a sip and then, her gaze focused on her lap, began a halting explanation, though none had been asked. "Pollack… I can't make – I'm not very good at this. I know – I mean, I guess… um… I just can't…." She bit her lip. "I don't want to hurt you." Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. "Again."

He reached for her free hand and waited until she looked up at him of her own accord. "I'm not looking for guarantees, Cavanaugh." He savored a small mouthful of the wine. "Honestly?"

After a slight hesitation, she nodded.

"I probably wouldn't be here if that's what I wanted." Her head dipped again at his words.

They sat quietly, neither speaking nor looking at one another, their hands still clasped however. Both drank in tiny sips, letting the wine work its slow, gentle magic in slow, gentle ways, until the tension slunk from her shoulders and she relaxed against the arm he'd laid against the back of the couch. Her head rested on his shoulder, but she still avoided his gaze, twirling the glass in her free hand instead, watching the dregs of the red as it whirled in the low light.

"What do you want?" She asked after a long while.

He plucked her glass from her hand and, leaning forward, put both empties on the coffee table before taking up her hand again. His thumb slid along her fingers, rubbing softly, silkily. "Another chance. For us."

"I'm not good at making promises."

He smiled; though she couldn't see it, she could hear it in his reply. "I'm not asking for promises, Cavanaugh."

She nodded automatically. "But – um – you had said…." Her fingers twitched beneath his. "You know."

"Cavanaugh." She looked up. His expression was unreadable. "It was a mistake." He held up a hand against her protest. "The timing, not the – the feeling. Nigel… Nigel said something. And he was right. For me… maybe – maybe not for you. Maybe… not then… not yet." He shrugged. "Maybe never. But I'd like to try."

The echo of _those_ words were there, but without their fateful companions.

"What – um – what did Nigel say?" Her voice was thick and choked.

Pollack shook his head. "Not now. Not yet."

"Maybe never?"

He was surprised to see that tears leaked from her eyes. Gently, he freed his hand from hers and brushed away the soft streams of moisture from her satiny cheeks. "I'm not going to think that way, Cavanaugh. Everything – Everything has a – a resolution."

Slowly, uncertainly, Jordan nodded. Then his words triggered in her what he'd known they would. She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Some things… some things don't." She gave him a deliberate look. "Or they don't – they don't seem to."

"Ah, yeah. _Seem _to. But it's always there. You just have to look."

"I've spent my whole life looking," she retorted.

"Point taken." He sat forward. "Sometimes it takes a fresh perspective, let's say." He got up and went to where he'd set down the things he'd gathered from the hotel suite. He brought his laptop back and booted it up as he sat down next to her again. He called up certain files and entered the password that would let her view them. Before handing her the computer, he looked at her, his eyes dark and serious, his expression woven with concern. "Don't expect… too much, okay?"

She took another deep breath and nodded. Her fingers trembled as they hovered over the keyboard. She took a deep breath.

The first file was a recent case. A murder. The defendant opted for a judicial trial, waiving his right to trial by his peers. All the evidence was there so it wasn't that odd. Except the man went free. The judge declared the evidence inconclusive.

The second file went back a few years. Vehicular homicide while driving under the influence. She whistled softly. The defendant was not exactly anonymous. He was a mover and shaker in Boston's financial district. He copped a plea. The judge rejected it and dismissed the charges, calling the evidence insufficient. The same judge.

The third file… the fourth… the fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth were the cases taken from the Morgue. They were all the same. Cases with perfectly good evidence dismissed. Plea bargains overridden. One judge.

She looked up. "It's… Oh… I don't believe it." She shook her head. "I mean, I do. But…."

"There's more." Pollack held out three manila folders to her. "These weren't computerized."

She took them and held them on her lap for a moment. She swallowed past the huge lump in her throat.

"It's the second one, Cavanaugh."

Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She nodded quickly. "Thanks." It came out as a croak.

She closed her eyes and prayed. It took her a moment to realize that was what she was doing, but there it was. Her fear betrayed her heart, whispering the one thing she had never wanted to acknowledge. And in a moment she could know. For better. For worse. But, please God, let it be better.

Pollack reached over and slipped the file onto the top. He opened it.

She looked down. She read the evidence. Evidence that had always been there. Evidence a young D.A. – a young D.A. who went on to become a judge in Boston and then on the federal bench – had assessed and declared… insufficient. A young D.A. who had never brought charges, never made public any of the findings, never let a family – what was left of it – find answers.

She turned the page and saw the bank records. Pollack had been thorough. He'd even managed to trace where the payments had come from. Another man who had risen through the echelons of power. A man who feared revelations from his past would limit his aspirations. A man who had never cared for anyone but himself.

A man who was dead. Had been dead for several years.

She closed the file. After a moment she looked up at Pollack. "What now?"

END Part Three


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** You can consider the basic premise of this little story to be either pure cheese or utter denial on my part. Granted… if they had tried this on the show, I'd be voting for pure cheese – of the water and oil based "processed cheese-type food" variety no less. But it's fanfic… time to play and have fun and maybe enjoy the cheddar (or Swiss or provolone or chevre or whatever you like with your wine – or whine ).

**A/N (updated): I started this back in…oh, July. Possibly June. It took a long time (duh) to write. Not from lack of interest on my part but because it simply came slowly. Basically, it's now an AU timeline from "Don't Leave Me This Way." If you don't like Jordan/J.D., skip it.**

**DISCLAIMER: **Don't own 'em. Not thinking the coup is necessary at this point, but still ready, willing and able to stage it if it should become necessary.

**The Raveled Sleeve of Care: Part Four**

Jordan went running in the morning, leaving the reporter sleeping soundly in her bed. He hadn't pushed her for anything once she'd finished reading the file. To answer her question, he'd suggested she sleep on the information he'd found. To his credit, he hadn't suggested anything physical, but had been content to hold her in his arms.

She stopped in the park to cool down and have some water. People strolled by, some going to and from church, she supposed. Some were out with their kids for breakfast and, given the weather, probably heading to the beach or maybe the Sox were in town. People going about their normal lives; people who had normal lives. She unclipped her cell phone and dialed Nigel, hoping that if she woke him up, his hangover wouldn't be too bad.

He answered on the second ring and sounded alert so Jordan launched into her request. He listened for a moment and then agreed. "Might take a bit, luv," he told her.

"I know," she told him. "I can wait."

Nigel chuckled. "Since when?"

She hesitated. "Since now."

The Brit knew her well enough to hear something different in her voice and he let it be.

XXXXX

"Man," Jordan drew a breath through her mouth. "And it's not even summer yet."

"No kidding," Garret agreed, bending next to the body found by hikers that morning and already in extensive decomposition.

"Hey there."

Both M.E.'s looked up at Woody.

"What can you tell me?" He looked down and his face went green, his nose wrinkling at the stench. "Other… than I'm going to be getting this suit dry cleaned."

Macy and Jordan exchanged looks though the gallows humor didn't really offend them. "Uh," Garret said. "Not much. Decomp is…." He swallowed.

"'Kay. Yeah." Woody flipped his notebook shut. "Let me know if you find out anything-"

A call of "Detective Hoyt! Over here!" pulled Woody away before he could add anything else. Garret and Jordan continued to examine what was left of the body. The detective returned shortly with a wallet. "Well, I think we have an i.d."

Jordan reached for it with one gloved hand. "This will give us a place to start. Thanks." Woody shifted from foot to foot while Jordan and Garret conferred. "Gar, I'll get this back to the morgue and get Nigel on it."

The Chief M.E. agreed before beginning to arrange for the body's transportation.

Jordan began to walk back to her Blazer, finding Woody on her heels. "So… um… how's Lily?"

The M.E. didn't break stride. "Pretty good, actually. She seems to be happy, says she finally knows what she wants."

"Good… that's good. For her. That was – uh – some … wedding. Well, not really, I guess."

Finally Jordan stopped. "Woody, is there something you want to talk about?"

"No." He shook his head and blinked rapidly. "No, not at all."

"Fine, then I need to get back to the morgue." She resumed her fast pace toward where she'd parked.

He stared after her for a minute and then hurried after her retreating back. "Actually, Jordan. Yeah. Um… there was something."

She stopped again and turned to face him. "Pollack?"

It took him a moment to respond and when he did it was with a slow nod.

"You know, Woody," she began, her voice cool. "You – We – We both got something we'd wanted for a while and… it didn't work out. We've both moved on."

"Jordan-"

"End of story, Woody." She swallowed. "At least we know, right?"

"Um… yeah." He nodded again. "At least we know."

XXXXX

The dead man in the woods turned out to be a case of accidental death, his neck breaking when he fell down a hill. His wife had been in Tokyo on a business conference and so his absence hadn't been reported until her return. The same day Jordan finished up her report on the tragic incident, Nigel brought her the information she had asked him to get.

"Thanks, Nige."

"Want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. "Maybe later."

XXXXX

"You sure you don't want me to go with you?" Pollack watched Jordan toss a few things in a duffel bag.

She shook her head. "Thanks, but this is something… I need to do on my own."

He gave her an understanding look.

"It'll just be a – a couple of days." She laughed to lighten the mood. "As long as the El Camino doesn't conk out."

"You could fly," he suggested.

"Yeah." She shrugged. "I – I need the time." The unspoken question was in her eyes and the set of her mouth.

"Well, I'll be here when you get back."

"You don't need to take care of me, you know." She zipped the duffel shut, not daring to look at him this time.

He took the bag out of her hand and pulled her to him. "I know you're not used to it, Cavanaugh. But," he tilted her chin up with one finger. "I recall saying maybe you should get used to it."

She swallowed. "That was a while ago."

He shrugged lightly. "Hasn't changed."

Jordan had no response for that. It had changed, of course. A lot had changed. But, she realized, maybe it hadn't changed in all together bad ways. She smiled, that quirky, enigmatic smile. "I'll call you when I get there."

XXXXX

Max was surprised to see his daughter. He gave her a wary hug. The look in her dark eyes and the set of her jaw told him something had happened. He tried to avoid whatever conversation she wanted to have. "You could have called, you know."

"I could have," she replied. "If this is a bad time, I can wait. I'm pretty good at that, Dad."

Her voice sent shivers of dread through him. "No, no. Jordan, of course it's not a bad time. You're my daughter." The jovial tone of his voice didn't reach his eyes.

"I have something I want you to see."

"What's this all about, Jordan?"

She thrust the typescript of Pollack's article at him. The article hadn't run yet and Pollack was actually waiting for Jordan to say it was okay, but she'd brought a copy nonetheless. Max put on his glasses and read the reporter's well crafted writing. When he reached the end, he took a very deep breath and looked up. His eyes were stones and his mouth, a grim line. "Who is this guy? The guy that wrote this."

"J.D. Pollack."

"I can read his by-line, dammit! Who is he?"

"He's – He's someone I know."

"Well, he's got a hell of an imagination!"

"Cut the crap, Dad!" Jordan's eyes flashed. "It's the truth."

"You don't know that. I thought you were too smart to believe everything you read."

His baiting failed. "I do know it's the truth. I've seen the research, Dad, the reports, even the ones that were buried. Some of it is even from files that were at the Morgue! It's been there, all this time." She was breathing harder. "It just took – someone else to find it."

"Why was he looking?"

She sighed. "He wasn't. His was doing an article on the judge. He put two and two together."

Max opened his mouth and then shut it again. "Has he published it?"

Jordan shook her head. "He's waiting."

"For what?"

"For me. Until I had a chance to talk to you."

"What kind of reporter sits on a story like this?"

She exhaled softly, quickly. "One who – who didn't want to see me get hurt." Her eyes narrowed. "Again."

"Jordan, you have to understand-"

"I've tried, Dad. I've really tried. I'm sure you had your reasons and I'm sure you'll tell me what they were, but I don't think I'll ever really understand."

Max's shoulders slumped. "I should have told you."

"Damn right you should have told me! I get why you wouldn't tell a ten year old, but I'm not ten, Dad. I haven't been for a long time."

"I was worried."

"What? That I'd go after him? Or did you just think maybe I'd outgrow needing to know who killed Mom? That I'd outgrow needing to hear the truth from my own _father_?"

He put out a hand but she slapped it away. "You want to score points on me, Jordan? Go ahead. I deserve some of it. Hell, I deserve a lot of it. But not all of it. If you let me explain, maybe you'll see that."

She glared at him, her eyes a mutiny, but finally she dipped her head once in tacit agreement.

"They threatened to take you away, to help your grandparents prove I wasn't a fit parent."

She nodded. "And when I got older?"

"More threats. Proof- forgeries of course, but believable forgeries – showing you'd cheated in classes in college. Later, telling me you'd lose your job, that you'd never get another."

"I never cared about my job!"

Max shook his head. "But I did. Jordan, you're good at what you do. Not just good, great. And nothing would ever have brought your mother back. And you may not think you care about your job, but you do."

She pushed down the tears. "What about the last few years? He's dead. You could have told me."

"I had this strange idea you wouldn't react well."

"How can you expect me to?"

"I can't." He looked away from her. "I was selfish. I was afraid you'd never want to see me again. Look, Jordan, I know we don't have a very good relationship, but the thought of not having any relationship with my only daughter about kills me. So, I was a coward."

She hesitated for a moment, the tears finally spilling over. "Oh, Dad. I – I…." She thought of that day she'd found him crying on their front steps, of the moment she knew he resented needing her so much. Then she put her arms around him. "I love you," she murmured. "That's never going to change."

Her father held onto her, knowing they were both still broken people, but seeing for the first time the chance of mending everything.

END Part Four


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** You can consider the basic premise of this little story to be either pure cheese or utter denial on my part. Granted… if they had tried this on the show, I'd be voting for pure cheese – of the water and oil based "processed cheese-type food" variety no less. But it's fanfic… time to play and have fun and maybe enjoy the cheddar (or Swiss or provolone or chevre or whatever you like with your wine – or whine ).

**A/N (updated): I started this back in…oh, July. Possibly June. It took a long time (duh) to write. Not from lack of interest on my part but because it simply came slowly. Basically, it's now an AU timeline from "Don't Leave Me This Way." If you don't like Jordan/J.D., skip it.**

**DISCLAIMER: **Don't own 'em. Not thinking the coup is necessary at this point, but still ready, willing and able to stage it if it should become necessary.

**The Raveled Sleeve of Care: Part Five**

Jordan's drive home gave her time to reflect, time she hadn't had on the drive down, as she'd wondered what to say to her father, wondered how she would feel. Now she knew. She knew the truth – Max had told her all the things a file couldn't. She knew it would never be an easy peace with her father, but it was a peace. She knew she was finally free of the mystery that had haunted her adult life. And that scared her. It forced her to think about the other things in her adult life, the ones that didn't have any real connection to that mystery.

When she was so exhausted her eyelids started to flutter shut, she found the cheapest motel she could, had a hot shower and dropped into bed. She expected to fall straight to sleep, but that wasn't to be. Instead, her overactive brain kept spinning, wanting her to clarify a few things, things that mattered.

After an hour of tossing and turning, she sat up and hit the light. She reread the article Pollack had written. She knew it almost from memory by now, but she scanned the words anyway. It served as a gruesome, ironic bedtime story.

She knew it would take time, but that she'd forgive her father. As she'd once forgiven her grandmother, she'd find a way to let go of the pain Max's lies and secrets had cost her. Whatever they said about Hell and the paving stones that led there, his intentions _had been_ good. He'd tried protecting her, fighting her battles for her, and she really couldn't blame him for that. It was easy for her to say she wouldn't have cared about her job or college or anything else, but because of her father, she'd never had to test that. She could never change what had happened, only move forward.

The other men in her life were more complicated to deal with.

She'd hurt Pollack. The fact he'd gotten past that didn't alter it. The fact she still couldn't say the night with Woody hadn't mean anything would hang over them, if there was ever to be a "them," that was.

Then there was Woody. Someone she used to know well, but wasn't sure she did any longer. Did he know her any more either? Most of all – if they weren't 'in synch' as they used to be – did they want to be again?

She knew there was only one way she'd ever get any sleep. She took her cell phone from the bedside table and speed dialed his number.

He answered, sounding groggy and annoyed. Her greeting didn't seem to improve his mood. "Jordan? Do you know what time it is?"

"Yeah. Sorry, Woody. I – I needed – to talk to you."

"It couldn't have waited 'til tomorrow? You could have come by the precinct."

She sighed. "No, it can't wait. And… I'm not in Boston."

"Oh-kay. Where are you?"

Quickly, she sketched out for him what had happened with Pollack's research, the fact he'd uncovered the truth behind her mother's murder and her drive down to Florida to see her father. "So… I need to know."

"Know what?" He had a right to the confused tone in his voice after her non sequitur of a segue.

"I said… something. The last time we saw each other."

"You said," he told her through gritted teeth. "We've both moved on, that we gave it a shot that night at the inn and at least now we know."

She took quick, shallow breaths. "Do we?"

"I – uh – God, Jordan, do we have to do this on the phone?"

"Woody. Answer the question." She swallowed, trying to slow her breathing. "Please."

He was silent for a long moment. Finally, he exhaled deep from within. "Yeah. I guess… yeah. We know."

In a dark, North Carolina motel room, Jordan nodded slowly. "Okay. Thanks."

"Jordan? I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For… I don't know… something – changed with me. I'm not the same man you whispered those words to."

"It's okay, Woody," she told him. "I'm not really the same woman who whispered them."

He was quiet again. "Did you mean it?"

"Yeah. I did."

His voice thickened. "Well, there'll always be that then, huh?"

She swallowed the tears threatening to spill forth. "Yeah."

"I guess sometimes… it just – it doesn't… it's never the right time and place."

"I guess not," she agreed with great sadness. "G'night, Woody."

"Night, Jordan."

She pressed the key that ended the call and cried herself to sleep.

XXXXX

She slept through her alarm the next morning. As she rushed around the motel room, making sure she grabbed the few items she'd gotten out, her cell rang. She looked at the caller i.d. _Pollack_. They'd talked briefly in Florida and she'd called him when she left the day before. She'd left him a voice mail as she was checking in last night, but he'd been careful to give her space. A small smile quirked up the corners of her mouth. She realized she was looking forward to hearing his voice.

"Hey," she answered.

"Hey, yourself. You on the road?"

"Just heading out. I overslept."

"Everything okay, babe?"

She gave that a moment's thought. "Had a little trouble sleeping, but… yeah. Things are pretty good." She licked her lips. "I doubt I'll make it back tonight."

"All right. Wouldn't want you getting too many speeding tickets, would we?"

She laughed. "No."

He hesitated; she could hear it over the connection. "I could – could meet you along the way. I know this bloke from D.C. who's got a lovely place on the Eastern Shore, gave me a key to the guest house and told me he'd been gone all summer."

Jordan felt the air rush out of her lungs. "Um… I-"

"If it's too much…."

She thought back to his invitation to join him on Martha's Vineyard and how she'd almost screwed that up. The relationship hadn't always been a picnic and as long as it lasted, probably wouldn't be, but it had proven worth the effort. Finally, she got her breath back and with it, her voice. "That would be… fun."

"Great." He proceeded to tell her that he'd figured out the easiest way would be for him to fly to one of the regional airports and she could pick him up.

"Okay."

"How far are you from Raleigh-Durham?" There was a teasing note in his voice that she heard for the first time.

"Twenty minutes, I guess. Why?"

"I'll wait for you outside baggage claim."

"When?"

"Let me rephrase that, Cavanaugh." His voice was silky and mirthful, if that was possible. "I'm wait**ing** outside baggage claim."

Jordan grabbed the rest of her meager traveling supplies and hopped in the El Camino. "You took a big chance there. What if I'd been up at the crack of dawn and halfway to Maryland by now?"

"First of all," he told her. "It was physically impossible for you to be halfway to Maryland by now."

"Smart ass," she interrupted.

"Flattery will get you all sorts of things, Cavanaugh." He chuckled softly. "Second of all, I had a feeling you might get a late start – call it one of those hunches we reporters get. And lastly, if you'd been halfway to Maryland, I'd have hopped the next flight I could to Baltimore."

Not really wanting to sever the connection, but deciding she couldn't drive like it was a stock car race, talk on the cell and **not** get a ticket or crash, hanging up was the better part of valor. In the end it only took twelve minutes to get the airport and none of the three patrol cars she rocketed past seemed to care.

Pollack just shook her head as she all but screeched to a halt in front of the curb. He tossed his own duffel bag into the truck's bed and then climbed in next to her. As way of greeting her, he leaned in to her, snaked one hand around her head and drew her to him for a lingering kiss. Breaking away, they rested their foreheads against each other. "You could've just said 'hi,'" Jordan teased. "Not that I'm complaining."

"You could have traveled at something less than Mach 2," he retorted. "Not that I'm complaining either."

She pulled away from the curb. "So, where are we going?"

"Just outside of Annapolis. This mate of mine has a house – an estate really – out there. Told me to feel free to use the guest house. I checked yesterday with the housekeeper; she's thrilled to have people to look after."

"Sounds swanky."

"Well, the chef is traveling with them, so we'll have to scrounge up our own rations, but the housekeeper is there, so I imagine we'll find fresh towels daily, cut flowers, maybe even turn down service in the evening." He gave her a little leer.

"With mints on the pillow?" Jordan joked.

"I'll ask if she can do those fun towel animals."

They talked about light and inconsequential matters for a long time. After a brief stop for lunch, J.D. suggested Jordan get a little rest. She'd made a token protest, but the truth was the blitzkrieg drive to Florida, the confrontation with her dad and yesterday's return had taken more out of her than she cared to admit. They'd barely gone five miles when she was asleep.

XXXXX

Pollack didn't awaken her until they reached the outskirts of Annapolis. Though their visit wouldn't take them into the historic area, he suggested they could come explore later as he headed for the bridge that would take them to the exclusive spit of land where his mate's estate lay. Jordan took a deep breath when she saw the lush area. Old trees, lawns so bright they almost hurt the eyes, the occasional gleam from very high end cars and finally the narrow drive through an avenue of tall oaks. The lane ended in a roundabout in front of a house nearly as grand as Jordan's grandmother's. Pollack pulled the El Camino to the side and killed the engine. Jordan simply stared out the window.

"We'll have to walk everywhere," she murmured.

"Why?"

She looked at him, grinning. "Because if the neighbors see this thing, your friend will be ostracized, forced to sell; his whole life will be ruined!"

Pollack laughed with her. "Well then, we'll ride or take the boat."

Her eyes widened. "Horses? A boat?"

"Jordan, this is Annapolis. The Boating Capital of the World. From dinghies to multimillion dollar yachts, I think everyone has a boat here."

Her face fell a bit. "Dinghies?"

He caught her hands and kissed them. "Don't worry. Dale's got something a bit… higher end." He motioned to the front door, which had opened. "That must be Reanne, the housekeeper."

Reanne could have been an actress playing a role, so perfectly did she carry out her duties. Within minutes, Jordan and Pollack were installed in the guest house, Reanne discretely tucking their duffel bags into the closet, her eyes striving not to convey a little bemusement at their attire. She gave Pollack the keys to the stables and told him she had alerted Derek, the stable hand, that they might use the equines. She had also given him all the information on the boat, made suggestions about restaurants or, should they prefer, she could, of course, create an exemplary meal. Afterwards, she left them in peace.

Jordan wandered around a few minutes, taking in the master bedroom suite which had its own sitting area, a bathroom with a huge whirlpool tub and a sauna room. The kitchen was small, but immaculate and stocked with beautiful dish- and glassware, as well as top quality appliances. There was a great room, its western wall composed solely of large panes of glass so that residents could never miss the view of the Chesapeake Bay, nor the fifteen-yard or so carpet of green lawn that stretched down to the boat dock. She stared out the windows, watching other boats come and go, enjoying the play of the sun on the water. She finally looked at Pollack. "_This_ is the guest house?"

"Dale never does anything by half measures."

"I'll say."

He came to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her snug against him. She relaxed in his embrace, her hands lying over his.

"What would you like to do first, Cavanaugh?"

She inhaled slowly, held the breath and then expelled it with equal patience. "Tell you to run the article."

He cocked his head to peer into her eyes. "You're sure?"

"Run it, J.D. Just like it is."

His pause equaled hers. "All right," he agreed at last. "So…what would you like to do next?"

She watched their reflection in the glass as the summer twilight was giving way to dark. Her voice wasn't as steady as might have hoped and her eyes gleamed with telltale moisture. "Can we take the boat out?"

"Sail across the bay and grab some dinner?"

She nodded.

"Sounds perfect. I know this great, rowdy, crowded place right on one of the main corners. Great views, great stone crabs, great people. Sound okay?"

"Sounds wonderful."

XXXXX

Though it was late and most places were closed, Pollack gave Jordan the ten cent tour of the small city after dinner. They walked, holding hands, stopping from time to time to look in shop windows, read historical plaques and finally found an open café, where they had an espresso before returning to the docks.

Moonlight bathed the guest house in a light silver glow and, in the darkness, it almost seemed the house could float away on the water so close by. Jordan made use of the whirlpool before crawling into bed, where Pollack was reading another one of his inevitable books. He put it away and cradled her against him. Her eyes were already shutting, her mind dull and, for the first time in a long time, empty of so many questions. She tried to murmur an apology, but was asleep before the words made it out.

Pollack smiled and nuzzled her ear, whispering, "No worries, Cavanaugh. No worries at all."

END Part Five


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** You can consider the basic premise of this little story to be either pure cheese or utter denial on my part. Granted… if they had tried this on the show, I'd be voting for pure cheese – of the water and oil based "processed cheese-type food" variety no less. But it's fanfic… time to play and have fun and maybe enjoy the cheddar (or Swiss or provolone or chevre or whatever you like with your wine – or whine ).

**A/N (updated): I started this back in…oh, July. Possibly June. It took a long time (duh) to write. Not from lack of interest on my part but because it simply came slowly. Basically, it's now an AU timeline from "Don't Leave Me This Way." If you don't like Jordan/J.D., skip it.**

**DISCLAIMER: **Don't own 'em. Not thinking the coup is necessary at this point, but still ready, willing and able to stage it if it should become necessary.

**The Raveled Sleeve of Care: Part Six**

Pollack took her sailing and fishing, motored over to some of the smaller villages, even arranged an on-board sunset picnic the third night they were there. As they drank a lovely white from McLaren Vale, Jordan couldn't help but sigh. "Do you remember that show _Fantasy Island?_"

"_De plane! De plane, Boss! De Plane!" _He came back with a decent impression of Tattoo.

She laughed. "Well, I feel like that's where I've ended up."

"But?"

Her head dipped. "Damn. You're good at that. Reading me."

He shrugged.

"I am going to have to get back."

"Well, yeah. One more day? Tomorrow? Back to Boston after that."

She nodded her agreement.

"Good. I've got plans for you tomorrow." He spoke in a mock menacing tone and pretended to twist the ends of a moustache, all while leering.

Jordan made a moue of disappointment. "No plans for me tonight?"

"You have to ask?"

She laughed.

XXXX

They started their day with a tour of the Maryland State House which, since she wasn't a student on a field trip and wouldn't be required to prove she'd been paying attention, interested Jordan quite a lot. Pollack walked her down to the grounds of the United States Naval Academy, bought admission tickets to tour the campus and, with the aid of a map, showed her all the special places it held. Jordan teased him that he only brought her here in the summer because most of the cadets were gone since it was summer. "Can you blame me?" he asked.

They wandered amongst the little shops, stopped for ice cream at one of Annapolis' oldest ice cream parlors. At one point, J.D. pointed out a place he called the "swankiest, best, 'it' restaurant in town."

"Good thing we're not going there. I doubt my shorts and tank tops would be too welcome," Jordan joked.

"I always think they're welcome," he told her, letting his eyes slide up and down her figure. "But you might have a point. Idiots."

They strolled some more, stopping in front of a store that carried some of the latest fashions from well-known – and thus expensive – labels. Jordan's honey eyes melted a little at the dress in one window display. Red, her favorite shade of red, to be exact. The bodice was intriguing – falling from thin shoulder straps across the breasts and then criss-crossing, the right piece being secured at the left side; the left piece falling between the mannequin's legs. An underskirt of the same shade fell straight, nearly floor-length with slits running up the front of each leg, to mid thigh. She sighed.

"Give it a go. Probably your size," Pollack told her.

She snorted. "Maybe. But it's all wrong for my bank account!"

He pulled her by the hand into the shop and, before she could protest, explained to the well-groomed clerk with the gentle accent that they lady would like to dry on the ensemble from the window. Yes, the dress, the shoes and the necklace.

Jordan tried to shush him and to stop the clerk, but the Aussie ignored her. Finally, he took her by the shoulders. "Go try it on, Cavanaugh. Just for fun." He winked.

Giving in – and secretly thrilled about it – Jordan found herself led to a nicely appointed dressing room. Clothes shopping wasn't her favorite task, especially when she couldn't afford what she was trying on, but Pollack was right – just seeing how this would look on her would be fun. She slid into the dress, adjusted it and turned to look in the mirror. She tried to suppress the gasp of delight, but she had a feeling she'd done a poor job of it. She pulled on the shoes – open-toed sandals dyed to match. Her fingers shaking now a bit, she clasped the multi-strand gold-and-garnet necklace around her neck. She looked in the mirror again and groaned this time. The whole ensemble emphasized her long, lean legs with their shapely calves. The necklace drew attention to her lovely skin and the cleavage it dipped toward. She sent up a silent prayer to the patron saint of fashion – if there was one – that the price tags wouldn't say… damn.

"Show time, Cavanaugh!" Pollack's voice brought her back to reality. All right, she'd go out and show him, let him take a mental picture and then change back into her own clothes. This was a month's rent. And heat. And water. And food. Maybe two. Well, a girl can dream….

She stepped out of the dressing room and had the satisfaction of watching the Aussie's jaw nearly unhinge. He stammered out a compliment. The clerk told Jordan it looked like the dress had been made for her, which was probably what the clerk told everyone, but Pollack quickly echoed the sentiment. After being stared at long enough, the M.E. retreated to the dressing room. She could hear murmured conversation as she unhooked the necklace.

"Dr. Cavanaugh?"

"Yes?"

"If you'll just hand me the pieces as you finish with them, we'll get them where they need to be."

With a nod only to herself, Jordan agreed, starting by dropping the necklace into the woman's palm. The shoes came shortly after and lastly, the dress. Jordan laid it carefully over the top of the door and watched it slide away, borne off by the clerk no doubt to return to its mannequin.

She emerged a few minutes later and they left, heading back toward the docks. She knew Pollack had planned a nice evening out and they both wanted to go freshen up at least. A cab would bear them to and from their destination. He wanted their last evening to be a celebration with no worries about designated drivers, on land or water.

Later, Jordan would wonder how he'd had her so thoroughly fooled.

XXXXX

They tied up the boat and, hand in hand, made their way up to the guest house. Jordan walked into the bedroom to kick off her shoes to find a garment bag lying on one side of the bed and a large box on the other. "Pollack! You know anything about this?"

He came into the room. "Oh, yeah. Dale and I are about the same size, so Reanne brought over one of his tuxes."

Jordan glared at him. "Great. You'll look perfect and… what?"

He just shrugged and let his grin grow wider.

"What?"

He kissed her forehead. "Open the box, Cavanaugh."

"I suppose Dale's wife is about my size – thirty years older – but my size and you asked Reeee…." Her voice trailed away as her eyes went round as saucers. For a moment, she forgot to breathe. Then she looked up. "You didn't?"

"Then it's one hell of an illusion, huh?"

"But – it's – it's a small fortune!"

"So?"

"Pollack… you… neither of us has this kind of money!"

"Well, luv, turns out I've been asked to write a book about the dear judge – set the record straight on the man, as it were. I've been given a rather… generous… advance."

"But why – why _this_?"

"Did you look in the mirror?" His eyes twinkled. "Because I wanted to, Cavanaugh. I wanted to have one extravagant, unforgettable, romantic night with the most beautiful, intelligent, sexy woman I know." He sighed and lifted up one lock of her hair. "Because tomorrow we have to leave _Fantasy Island_."

After a moment, she swallowed her last protests and murmured a simple _thank you_ before getting ready.

She wasn't terribly surprised when the cab stopped in front of the restaurant Pollack had shown her earlier in the day. He'd set the whole evening up well. It lived up to its billing, their waiter making suggestions for each course, sending the sommelier over to aid them in selecting the perfect wines. The food was sublime, perfectly matched to the wines and, the waiter assured Jordan, they took special assurance to make sure the desserts were magically sucked free of calories. Pollack wouldn't even let them bring the bill to the table and Jordan couldn't remember the last time she'd been so thoroughly wined and dined by someone who wasn't trying to use her in some way.

After the cab dropped them off, they sat on the dock, her skirt hiked up, his pant legs rolled, so they could dangle their feet in the Chesapeake. The moon sparkled on the water, reflected itself in a long, argentine ribbon. Across the water, the Naval Academy sat, dark and silent. Crickets chirped around them, a counterpoint to the gentle slap of water against the pilings.

"Did you mean it? When you said… you loved me?" She made herself face him.

He regarded her steadily. "Yeah. Yeah, I did, Jordan." He paused, ran his tongue over his teeth. "I still do."

She nodded, her breath catching. This was the part where traditionally Jordan Cavanaugh made a quiet, but hasty exit and hit the pavement running. "Why then?"

"I think you know."

She nodded. "Woody. You were jealous."

"That feeling hasn't changed much either, Cavanaugh." He leaned back, his palms flat against the dock. "When I first met you, it was clear that you two… well, if looks could've killed, you'd both probably have been goners. But… it was equally clear that was… on the surface. That things went deeper. And you… you told me enough for me to know the score."

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "Then he seemed to snap out of whatever state he'd been in. And he wanted you back."

"Pollack-"

"He wanted you back, Jordan. And by then I wasn't ready to give you up. I was starting to feel like I wouldn't be ready for a while and was kind of hoping maybe you were getting around to that thinking, too. It was that 'something' I needed to talk to you about – getting a place together. I felt threatened by that case, by Hoyt." He took a very deep breath. "So I got all typical, testosterone-driven male and said something that should have been private in front of him to… warn him off, I guess."

She nodded, feeling her throat tighten and tears start in her eyes.

"The things is… I know you pretty well, Jordan. I know you didn't always think I did, but I do. I should have known better. I figured it'd scare you and we'd argue at dinner and… I don't know… we'd work it out. I never thought you'd get stuck at the damn inn."

"I never meant for it to happen."

He sat up and took one of her hands. "I know that. That's not who you are. You can be abrasive, demanding, stubborn, and a number of other traits I actually really like, but one thing you can never be is deliberately cruel. You tried to tell me – really the first chance you had in all that mess – but by then I knew."

She nodded, a tear gliding down her cheek.

"And I watched you, Jordan. Part of you wanted to tell me it didn't mean anything with Woody. I don't know if it was so I'd feel better in some way or because you – you liked what we had-"

"I liked what we had," she whispered.

He squeezed her hand gently. "But… you couldn't tell me that. You're too honest and – and it's another thing I – love about you. You are who you are, Jordan Cavanaugh." He freed her hand and brought his knuckles up to graze her cheek, drying the moisture he found there. "You have this beautiful, intense, fierce integrity."

She smiled, a broken expression of pain and doubt, fear and, at that moment, self-loathing. He gathered her into his arms.

After a moment, she said, "I still can't tell you it didn't mean anything."

He looked down at her glossy head. "I'm not going to ask you to."

"I loved him. For a long time. Longer than I would admit. When I finally told him, he didn't want hear it. He wasn't in my life and then…you were. But then… somehow we were friends again and… I don't know. There was this sense of … something unfinished. Then… Then we got stuck in Littleton Village."

"And you still loved him."

She was silent for a long time. "Yeah, I did. I still loved him then."

He tilted up her chin with one finger. "And now?"

"Now?" She shrugged. "Whatever was left unfinished after the Riggs shooting… it's finished now. I think… I think whatever we both expected to be there just never came to be." She laid her head against his chest. "It's always going to mean something, but not the everything I once thought it would." She looked up. "Can you live with that?"

He cocked his head to the side and gave her a lazy smile. After a moment, he nodded and, leaning in to kiss the soft flesh beneath her ear, he whispered, "I can live with it."

They remained like that for a few more minutes, watching the moonlight on the water, listening to the night sounds, saying goodbye to their own version of _Fantasy Island_. Without having to ask, Pollack stood up and helped Jordan to her feet. They walked back up to the house and went to bed.

XXXXX

Jordan stood at the windows, giving the Bay one last look. She had not felt this rested in ages. She had also not felt this certain about her choices in an even longer time. Pollack came in from starting the El Camino and tossing their bags in the back. Reanne would ship them the box of Jordan's finery.

The Aussie came and stood behind her, as he had the first night. Jordan craned her neck and looked up at him. "What did Nigel say to you?"

He grinned. "Verbatim?"

She smiled. "A general summary will do."

"Nigel told me…." He wrapped one dark lock of her hair around his finger. "He told me when every day you don't see that one special person is a day diminished, then you know it's right."

"And?"

"I didn't want any more days diminished. And that's exactly what I told him."

She turned in his embrace. "Without me…your days are diminished?"

He chuckled at her. "Why do you find that so hard to believe?"

"Track record."

"Well, track record or not… yeah. Without you, something is missing from my life." He caressed her cheek. "It's something rare and important, something that just doesn't come along very often. Some people never find it."

She nodded slowly. "I think I just narrowly missed being one of those people."

XXXXX

Pollack's article ran ten days later. It was one of the best days of Jordan's life and one of the worst. The answers were there in black and white with the facts to prove them valid. The long, protracted chapter of Jordan's life that had been the mystery of her mother's murder was ended. Finally, her mother had justice. And other families did, as well, their own questions answered, doubts quieted. It changed everything. And, of course, it changed nothing. Jordan had still grown up without a mother. She had still lived in a house shrouded in subterfuge and denial. She had still learned far too well the lessons of betrayal.

"You know, somehow, I thought you'd look a little… happier," Garret commented from her doorway.

Her eyes met his and then dropped. After a long moment, she shrugged. "I'm still who I am."

He moved in to her office, shaking his head. "Jordan, you'd have been a pain in the ass even if your mom had lived and she and your dad were currently retired and living in Miami, playing shuffleboard and Pinochle."

Her mouth was a thin-lipped, tight line. Then, she laughed. "Pinochle?"

Garret raised one shoulder. "I don't know. It was the first thing that came to mind, I guess."

They watched each other closely for a few silent minutes. At last, Jordan sighed. "I would have been a pain in the ass anyway?"

"Sure," her boss deadpanned. "Stubborn. Dedicated. Smart – sometimes too much for your own good. You think all that started when you were ten?" He snorted. "You're who you are because… because it's who you were meant to be."

She smiled softly.

"And I, for one, am damn glad you are." He flicked up his eyebrows at her. "Though, who knows? Maybe you'd have done paperwork on time."

He left before she could throw anything at him.

XXXXX

For once, Jordan left when her shift ended. Pollack's editor was taking them to dinner to celebrate what the man already thought would earn the paper at least a nomination for the Pulitzer, if not the award itself. Jordan had already picked out her outfit. As if it took much effort. She grinned to herself at that thought.

The elevator dinged and the door slid open, revealing Woody Hoyt. He started at the sight of her, but recovered quickly. "Hey. I was coming to see you."

"Woody… hey. I'm … uh… on my way out."

"I got that. Mind if I ride down with you?"

She shook her head.

"So," he started once the door shut on them. "I saw the article."

Jordan nodded.

"You… um… you know now, huh?"

"Now, yeah," she answered him quietly.

"That must've been… pretty… I don't know… gut-wrenching."

She looked at him. "Good description."

He rocked on his toes, hands thrust deeply in his pockets. The elevator arrived at the garage level, its door opening. Jordan began to walk to her car. Woody trailed her. As she reached the El Camino she glanced up at him. "Need a ride or something, Woody?"

"What? No, no, I… I…." He scrubbed a hand through his spiky hair. "When you called me. I – I didn't know exactly what you wanted to hear."

"Neither did I," she murmured.

"I was kind of hoping – maybe we could talk about it?"

She cocked her head at him, keys held in one hand, heart pounding in her chest. She was looking for exactly the right words. "Did you miss me? Us? Our friendship? Whatever it was?"

"When?"

"Any time. When you were with Lu? When I was – Before that night at the Inn?"

Confusion marred his handsome features. "Jordan… I… yeah. I told you that."

She nodded, feeling her eyes sting with scalding tears. "What did it feel like?"

"What do you mean?"

"Woody," she spoke deliberately, "When you and I weren't… us… I felt – God, dead inside. I walked through my life without noticing any of it. I followed the rules, did what I was told! My job became the only thing that mattered. I forgot… I forgot…." She swallowed. "I forgot what smiling was like, laughing, talking… just enjoying being with someone else. I even forgot what… what crying was like."

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "And then… you and Lu. I – I kept waiting for that to – to tear me up inside." She shrugged. "It never did. Finding out that way… that hurt like hell, but not – not for the reasons it once would have. You lied to me."

"I didn't lie!" he protested.

"You just didn't tell me," she countered, her voice soft and liquid in the dim light of the garage.

"I didn't want to hurt you."

She gave another shrug. "Maybe deep down you knew you wouldn't, that – that there was nothing left to hurt. Maybe we both knew that." She let out a shaky breath. "The bottom line Woody is… you wanted me in your life, on your terms, but I don't know if you ever needed me there. Or, if you did – if you did, you don't anymore."

"Jordan-"

"Your days aren't diminished without me, are they?"

His shoulders slumped as he tried to make sense of her words. "I don't – I don't know what you mean."

She swiped at her eyes with the back of one hand. "I know you don't." She leaned in and kissed him softly on the mouth. "'Bye, Woody."

XXXXX

A quiet wedding and a brief honeymoon in Maryland and then Jordan and Pollack were back at work. Fall passed, its days shorter, cooler, its trees alight with the colors of flame. Winter moved through, blanketing the city in snow several times before the Commons shook off the drab grays and put back on the verdant hues it was known for. Summer rolled around again, the sun burning hotly in the sky, the air humid and sticky.

Life changed in slow increments, hours, days, months… years.

Garret retired and handed the reins over the Jordan.

Nigel moved to Sri Lanka with a lanky blonde photographer.

Bug and Lily had a New Age commitment ceremony.

There was a baby. And then a second one. Babies that grew into stubborn, dedicated, smart children.

And Jordan finally realized she was, in fact, exactly who she had been meant to be, and that every choice she'd made, every impulse she'd obeyed had led her where she was. And she liked that.

END


End file.
